


what light through yonder window

by hellornothing



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Banter, Getting Together, M/M, Slow Burn, Violence, deadpool as a warning of his own, injury detail, more like a violent romcom, peter parker's size kink, really not as sad as the warnings make it sound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:44:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6551527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellornothing/pseuds/hellornothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The figure moves quickly, but Peter’s faster. He’s still adjusting to the sudden brightness, so dark red is really the only thing he takes from this initial encounter, but it’s enough.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>‘Deadpool?’</em></p><p> </p><p>-</p><p>aka the one where they get together via late night window visits</p>
            </blockquote>





	what light through yonder window

Peter isn’t about to blame himself the first time it happens, but he will admit he should’ve known better than to fall asleep with the window open.

To his credit, he was dead on his feet by the time he arrived back at his apartment, unable to do much more than strip off the suit, hastily brush his teeth, and drop onto his bed. He didn’t even bother to get under the covers. He considers it something of a minor miracle that he made it to his bed rather than passing out on the sofa. Balancing college with work would be hard enough on its own, he knows that well enough from his peers, but juggling both of those commitments on top of protecting the city in a mask every night as well really takes it out of a guy.

So he didn’t think to check the window before he succumbed to sleep. It’s irresponsible, something he tries very hard not to be anymore, but it happens.

It’s still night when he jerks awake, all systems on alert and heart rate already increased. He lies silently in the dark before rushing up to do anything foolish, and peers at the clock on the nightstand. It’s just after 4am, which means he only slept for about two hours, and he sighs. He really hoped he could stick through until his 8am alarm, but it doesn’t look like he’ll have that luxury tonight. There’s a lengthy moment when he’s convinced he’s still just running on overdrive from the night’s patrol and he actually shuts his eyes again for a second before he hears it.

The apartment isn’t anything special, and Peter certainly hasn’t gone to much effort to make it so. It’s old, too, and there’s that one creaky floorboard by the table that annoys him every time he steps on it. Right now though, as his ears pick up on the unmistakable sound of someone treading on it, he’s grateful.

He pushes himself up and stands as quietly as he can, and that’s when he notices the light and not exactly unpleasant breeze in his room. He glares at the open window as though it’s to blame, and then remembers he fell asleep on top of the covers in just his underwear. He doesn’t curse himself aloud, but it’s a close call.

So there’s somebody in his apartment, they let themselves in through his bedroom window, and they passed right by him, asleep and vulnerable and almost naked, on the bed. He makes the executive decision that he’s not in any immediate danger, and takes a second to pull on a shirt and his mask before he leaves the room. It’s probably too late to be called a precaution, but he doesn’t know for sure that the intruder saw his face, so he’ll take whatever defence he can get.

Whoever it is hasn’t turned a light on. There’s a bulky shape in the kitchen area, not really doing anything, just standing by the table. Peter supposes they haven’t moved since the floorboard creaked. That leaves him alone in the dark with a potentially dangerous stranger, both of them on edge and waiting for something to happen.

Well, he’s not about to stand around waiting be taken by surprise again, so he makes the first move, and flicks the light on.

The figure moves quickly, but Peter’s faster. He doesn’t try to fight yet, just takes to the wall and gets away from the dark red shape rushing towards him. He’s still adjusting to the sudden brightness, so dark red is really the only thing he takes from this initial encounter, but as he holds himself up in the opposite corner of the room, head just brushing the ceiling, blinking and watching the scene before him start to come together, it’s enough.

‘Deadpool?’

There’s another moment of silence during which Peter watches as Deadpool’s fingers flex around the hilt of one of his katanas, not yet unsheathed, before he lets go and drops his hand to wave up at Peter instead.

‘Morning sunshine!’ 

Peter scowls behind the mask. ‘It’s the middle of the night!’

‘Bullshit! It’s the am, so it counts as morning. Believe it or not, I was planning on waking you up, but you looked so cute and peaceful fast asleep that I figured I’d just leave you instead. Would it’d have been better if I woke you?’

‘Obviously,’ Peter snaps, then huffs. ‘It’d be better if you hadn’t broken into my apartment at 4am to start with.’

‘Hey, don’t be like that, I didn’t break anything, there was no breaking involved.’ Deadpool pauses and laughs. ‘Not right now, anyway.’

Peter inches down the wall slightly. ‘What does that mean?’

Deadpool lifts his other hand. Or rather, he lifts his arm, and his hand dangles loosely from a broken wrist. ‘Give me some credit, Spidey, you really think I’d show up here unannounced and uninvited without good reason?’

‘Yes,’ Peter interrupts, without hesitation. He’s trying not to look at the lifeless hand Deadpool’s still flapping at him. It’s too late – or early – for this. Deadpool just continues like Peter hadn’t spoken at all. 

‘I just needed somewhere to rest up a while, lay low while my bones fit themselves back together, because it ain’t exactly a pleasant process and it ain’t exactly fun hiding behind a dumpster in a back alley while everything snaps itself into place, you know?’

‘No.’

‘So I thought to myself, me and Spidey are friends just about as much as I’m friends with anyone, he wouldn’t want me to suffer outside alone in the cold, I’ll pay him a quick visit and ask if I can crash at his place for an hour, two hours tops. Except then you were fast asleep, but by the time I got here it was starting to really fucking ache, ‘cause broken wrists are never fun, ever, and I figured it was worth the risk. I really didn’t mean to wake you, but also, it’s boring as shit waiting there in the dark for your bones to fix themselves so I’m kind of glad you’re up and at ‘em now.’ Deadpool pauses, cocking his head as he looks up at Peter, but only for a second. ‘But maybe you don’t need to be that up up, huh? You gonna come down?’

‘You gonna stab and-or shoot me?’

‘Not if you don’t give me a reason to.’ Deadpool’s voice is cheery, but there’s a thin layer of steel beneath it. Sometimes it can be easy to forget he’s a trained and paid killer. Other times, Peter’s all too quickly reminded. He inches the rest of the way down the wall and leans back against it, folding his arms and frowning under his mask. 

‘How do you know where I live?’ 

Deadpool shrugs, seeming to pay more attention to his limp hand than Peter now they’re back on equal ground. He flicks it and watches as it swings back and forth like it’s held on by a string. Peter clamps down on the urge to storm over and grab Deadpool’s good hand just to keep him from playing with the damn thing. Way too late – or early – for this.

‘Followed you home one night.’

‘You _what?’_

‘It wasn’t as seedy as it sounds, promise. Pretty much the same reason as tonight, because this whole trying not kill people thing is ruining me, Spidey. I’m sure I never used to get this hurt when I just cut people in half or blew their brains out without thinking, but nowadays making the effort to do the right thing really takes it out of a guy. And I always just think if one person can both A) understand that and B) put up with me for a short amount of time, it’s you. So I followed you home one night trying to hold my guts in and I got all the way up to your window and I wasn’t just gonna barge in, I was gonna ask if you could just spare me a bandage or something, but… You were busy, anyway, didn’t want to interrupt you and your pretty redhead friend. Point is, it wasn’t pointless stalking, you know?’

Peter blinks. It’s quite a bit to take in at once, but when is talking to Deadpool ever not an exercise in cognitive processing? The merc with a mouth goes a mile a minute. He stores that line away to pull out at a later date, because he has a feeling Deadpool would like all that unnecessary alliteration if he’s in a good enough mood.

‘Wait, so… Where did you end up healing?’

Deadpool looks at Peter, or so Peter assumes, because the mask is once again turned towards him. ‘Just laid down on your fire escape and waited. Stitched myself back together in the end, just like always. Even wiped up the blood after, not that there was much to start with, because I was trying to not be too much of an asshole and leave a mess everywhere.’

‘So you know where Spider Man lives, but not, um. Me?’

He thinks he can even see Deadpool rolling his eyes behind the mask. It’s a lot more expressive than Peter’s. ‘Your secret identity remains a secret, bug boy. Spending an hour camping out stargazing on someone’s fire escape doesn’t reveal your innermost hidden truths. And because it’s probably stressing you out, you were flat out face down on the bed when I got here, all smushed into the pillow so bad I wondered for a second if you’d been smothered, except then you snored, but not really a proper snore, like a little snuffle, which was adorable by the way, so I knew you were alive, and I didn’t see your face, no, just all that…’ Deadpool waves his good hand vaguely around his head.

‘Hair?’ Peter supplies, trying not to smirk. He needn’t have bothered, Deadpool barks a low laugh.

‘Exactly, except I was thinking more of the word, uh, mane. Still, when you look like me, anyone with hair looks like they’ve got a whole mass of it.’

Peter nods, hoping it comes off as sincere understanding rather than polite agreement. He hasn’t seen Deadpool’s face, but given that the first time they met Deadpool had told Peter his full name and practically provided him with directions to his apartment (at the time), he knows there’s a particular reason that goes beyond the secret identity shtick most other masked heroes are concerned with. 

His brief nod doesn’t seem to cause any offence, at least, as Deadpool just continues. ‘So, I can hole up here, right? Look at me.’ He flaps his hand again. ‘You wouldn’t send me out into the cold like this, would you?’

Peter sighs and gestures carelessly to the couch. Deadpool practically bounces over to it and sits down heavily. The old frame creaks under his bulk. Peter fidgets awkwardly where he stands. He thinks Deadpool notices, or maybe it’s just his nature – never let a silence drag.

‘So what are we thinking, Spider kid, slumber party? Pizza and a movie? Paint each other’s nails? Ooh, maybe even a pillow fight. Should I get naked?’

‘Please don’t,’ Peter replies automatically, but his voice is light. He wants to offend Deadpool right now about as much as he wants one of those katanas through his belly.

Deadpool laughs, and his tone holds a hint of self-deprecation amongst the humour. ‘Don’t you worry your fluffy little head, I won’t subject you to that.’ He stretches out on the couch. The full span of his arms, fingertip to fingertip, take up the entire length of the back cushion. ‘So I guess that rules out the pillow fight, I’m pretty sure you have to be buck ass naked for that.’

‘You watch too many teen movies.’ It’s surprisingly easy to banter with Deadpool when he’s not trying to stop him from killing people on the street. Although to Deadpool’s credit, he wasn’t exactly lying when he mentioned his attempts to be less lethal when taking on opponents – Peter doesn’t think of Deadpool’s enemies as bad guys, because he’s not entirely sure Deadpool himself is a good guy. But for the time being, he’s at least making an effort. It’s about the only reason Peter hasn’t returned to the arduous task of kicking him out the city.

‘So I take it that’s a no to the nail painting too? That’s a real shame, ‘cause your pretty hands would look even prettier with a manicure, Spidey.’

Peter’s glad he thought to put his mask on, because he really hates it when Deadpool makes him blush.

‘Which I guess just leaves us with the pizza and a movie option, which I know ain’t exactly special, but I’ve got no problems with it if you do,’ Deadpool continues, thankfully oblivious to Peter’s flushing cheeks. It almost sounds tempting, and Peter almost says yes, but he’s still got that whole _responsibility_ thing going on.

‘That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,’ he starts, and Deadpool goes still. Peter laughs. ‘Yeah, I know, I’m as surprised as you are. But as much as I’d love to watch you stuff your mouth full of your topping of choice–’

‘Pineapple and olive,’ Deadpool interrupts.

‘–If only to shut you up for a little while, I’m gonna have to pass. It’s 4am Deadpool, we’ve been over this. If I don’t get at least another few hours in I’m gonna have to skip my morning patrol before class. Also, pineapple and olive? _Really?_ What kind of sick animal are you?’

‘It’s the fucking best,’ Deadpool says, voice a growl without any edge to it, all bark and no bite. ‘And you’re a fucking bore.’

‘You can have the couch,’ Peter says, heading back towards his bedroom. He snaps his fingers and points at Deadpool in what he hopes is a threatening gesture. ‘Don’t come in my room unless you’re leaving through the window before I wake up, and if you do, shut it behind you.’

‘Should’ve known you’d be a stickler for rules, kid,’ Deadpool says, before waving him away – with the hand still dangling from his broken wrist, and Peter can’t stop himself from shuddering. Deadpool stills again, and slowly lowers his hand, resting it limply on his thigh. Peter wants to apologise, but he’s not sure he wants to draw any more attention to his display of disgust.

‘Um.’ 

There’s an awkwardness in the air again, just when Peter was starting to feel comfortable. He supposes it’s probably a good thing; it could be dangerous to get comfortable around Deadpool.

‘Stop fretting, I’m not gonna do anything. Maybe have a nap once everything’s all healed up and hurting less. I’ll be out of your mane by morning, don’t you worry.’

‘It’s still hurting?’ Peter asks, because he can’t stop himself. Deadpool laughs.

‘Well, yeah. It’s still broken and I keep on waving it around like a douchebag, ‘course it still hurts. Go on, Spidey, go back to bed.’

‘Right,’ Peter says. He fidgets awkwardly once more, then says a quick goodnight and does as Deadpool says, hearing a low ‘night’ behind him just before he shuts the bedroom door. 

He gets under the bedsheets this time, and he keeps his mask on, and then he lies in the dark and struggles to sleep and watches the thin line of light beneath his bedroom door. At seventeen minutes to 5, the light goes off. Peter falls asleep again not long after.

\---

Deadpool’s apartment has even less charm to it than Peter’s. Although, Peter isn’t entirely sure that it’s even necessarily Deadpool’s own home, because it’s certainly not the same place Peter heard about the first time they met. It’s in an entirely different neighbourhood. Peter adds it to the mental list of things he really needs to ask Deadpool about.

He thinks it’s only fair that he follows Deadpool home a week after their last interaction in Peter’s apartment. He’s not sure exactly why, but he doubts Deadpool will mind too much.

Besides, Peter let Deadpool crash on his couch to heal. The least Deadpool can do is invite Peter in to clean up his own wounds – less severe than Deadpool’s was, granted, but the cut on his shoulder is still stinging, and Peter doesn’t heal the same.

Deadpool leaves his window open behind him, but Peter can’t say whether he does so on purpose or just out of carelessness. He supposes he doesn’t really have much to be scared of from squatters or robbers.

Not that there’s much that robbers would come for, Peter notes as he looks through into Deadpool’s living room. It’s dingy and grimy, as though nobody has cleaned it in… a longer time than Peter really wants to think about. He knows he’s messy, sure, but he’s not _dirty._ This place is gross, and the only thing that looks like it might be worth anything is the television, but even that looks a few years old and in need of an upgrade. 

Peter drops in through the window almost silently, and straightens up just as Deadpool’s halfway through taking off his mask, his back to the window. 

‘If there’s one thing I hate about weapons,’ Peter says conversationally, leaning against the wall. He’s looking around the room as he speaks, but he sees in his peripheral vision as Deadpool freezes in his unmasking and whirls around, pulling a gun from somewhere and aiming it at Peter’s face. Peter didn’t really expect anything else, considering he’s the one sneaking about this time. So he continues casually, ‘they can sometimes really hurt.’

Deadpool relaxes with a sigh, lowering the hand holding the gun and using the other to adjust his mask, ensuring it’s still in place. His face is still entirely covered; Peter only saw the back of Deadpool’s head, and he didn’t exactly get a good eyeful, but he’s not sure he liked the glimpse he had. He makes an active – and probably wise – decision not to mention it. 

‘Spidey,’ Deadpool says, all cheer now he’s lost most of his edge. ‘Welcome to casa del DP, mi casa es tu casa and all that jazz. Gotta say, you took me by surprise there, you’re lucky I didn’t blow your precious genius brains all over that fucking wall.’ It’s light hearted banter, mostly, with a touch of dark, but Peter still has to fight not to step back. ‘And it would’ve just broken my heart, wasting that mysterious face before I even really get to meet the man behind the mask.’

‘Alright, Deadpool, I think I get it. Thanks.’

‘No hay problema, bug boy. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Well, you know, I was in the neighbourhood, thought I’d just… swing by.’

Peter grins as Deadpool stares at him, his usually so expressive mask entirely passive as he slow claps. Peter shrugs like it was no big deal – which, really, it _wasn’t_ – and hisses when his suit drags across the cut in his shoulder. Oh, yeah. He’d totally forgotten all about that.

People can say a lot of bad things about Deadpool, and Peter will frequently agree, but he will admit he can be a very welcome distraction.

‘Just dropped in for a chat, huh? No reasoning or ulterior motives whatsoever?’ There’s a smirk in Deadpool’s voice.

Peter sighs and takes a step forward. ‘Alright, I followed you home from whatever mayhem and mischief you were causing tonight so you could… help me.’

Deadpool stares for a moment, and then drops heavily onto the sofa in a perfect reenactment of a swoon. Peter folds his arms and rolls his eyes as Deadpool drapes his arm over his forehead.

‘Your place seemed closer and I needed someone to help patch me up. I’d have just gone home, usually, but it’s kinda… not easy to reach my shoulder.’

‘What happened?’ Deadpool asks, sitting up on the sofa, apparently suddenly very interested.

‘It was a quiet night, just a routine patrol, taking down a mugger…’

_‘And?’_

‘And I got stabbed, alright.’

Deadpool sits up even straighter, one hand clenching in the stained cushion of the sofa, the other whipping a knife out from… somewhere, Peter honestly couldn’t say for sure, which really isn’t very comforting.

‘What are you doing?’ he asks, because although he’s fairly sure he knows Deadpool’s intent, he’s not sure why.

Deadpool flicks his knife between his fingers a few times, watches Peter as Peter watches his hand, and then stabs the blade down into the cushion. Peter mostly manages to hide his flinch at the sheer viciousness in the action.

‘He get away?’ Deadpool’s usual teasing tone is gone, that undercurrent of steel brought right to the surface, low and threatening and cold and not at all even slightly hot. Not at _all._

‘Yeah,’ Peter mutters, and Deadpool pulls the knife out of the cushion, mindless of the stuffing that follows it, and pushes himself to his feet. Peter, in turn, pushes himself forward, and for a second he presses his palms to Deadpool’s chest – _was Deadpool always that much taller than him?_ – to hold him back. Deadpool stills and looks down at him, and Peter quickly steps away, fiddling with his gloves and pulling at the edges of his mask. ‘What are you doing?’ he repeats, even though he’s definitely sure he knows the answer.

‘I’m gonna go after him, I thought that was pretty fucking obvious judging by the suit and the knife and the murderous intent.’

‘No, Deadpool. None of the murderous intent.’ He sounds a lot like he’s chastising a misbehaving dog, and he isn’t proud of it.

Deadpool mutters something that Peter decides to pretend he never heard, and crosses his arms. Peter also decides to ignore the way the red spandex stretches across Deadpool’s arms when he does, at least for now. He’ll think about it later, maybe. He has more pressing issues right now.

‘Listen, Wade,’ he says, voice firm but less aggressive. ‘I’ve got all the information I need about the guy, and I’ll find him, and he’ll be brought to justice, yadda yadda, you know the whole spiel. For now I need your help with the slightly more pressing issue of sewing up the open wound on my shoulder, because it’s not fatal, but it isn’t going to heal the same way your injuries do.’

Deadpool has gone still and Peter hopes it’s because he’s listening and not because he’s about to lose it – that it’s genuine calm, rather than the calm before the storm.

‘How do you know my name?’ he asks finally, and Peter blanches.

‘What? Everyone knows your name. You have a personal ad in the phone book. You told me your first, middle, and last name within ten minutes of meeting me, with three knives sticking out of your back.’

‘Huh. I guess I forgot, or, you know, figured I just never told you or you thought to look or you knew, _at all,_ you’ve never called me Wade before.’

‘Never?’ Peter asks, and he doesn’t even need to finish the word before knowing it’s true. Deadpool uncrosses his arms with a sigh and tosses the knife aside. Peter jumps at the sudden movement and stares at it where it wobbles slightly, half embedded in the wall.

‘So that’s a no-no on the killing tonight then?’

Peter cracks a half smile at that. ‘You’d be a lot more helpful staying here and giving me a hand with this.’ He tips his head towards his shoulder. ‘Besides, I let you sleep on my sofa to heal last week. You kinda owe me one.’

‘I didn’t even break anything.’

‘I know,’ Peter says, sitting down on the sofa when Deadpool gestures. ‘You’d owe me two if you had.’

‘You sure you don’t mind me seeing you without the suit, Spidey? You’re a pretty secretive guy.’

‘Just because you don’t see the point in it doesn’t mean we all want to be out in the open,’ Peter replies. Deadpool shrugs like he doesn’t care, but there’s a bitterness in his voice when he speaks.

‘I get why, you know, that you’ve got people to protect who’d be in danger if people found out who you are. Makes sense. But when nobody cares about you, there’s nobody to protect, and there’s no point bothering to hide your identity, right? I’d rather just get all my money straight to my name.’

Peter feels himself turning pink in embarrassment under the mask, because there’s clearly some hurt there and he– he doesn’t want to _hurt_ Deadpool, definitely doesn’t want to hurt the guy about to run a needle through his skin. But then, he’d also forgotten about the trained and paid killer part, again.

‘We don’t all earn money for what we do, you know,’ he says before he can stop himself. He really needs to work on his foot in mouth issue – especially around Deadpool. He’s fairly sure Deadpool wouldn’t kill him, but he’s more aware than ever that he can get stabbed non-fatally.

‘And we aren’t all fucking vigilante heroes fighting for truth, justice, and the American way,’ Deadpool snaps. ‘For one, I’m fucking Canadian. Now are you gonna shut up so I can have a go at fixing you up and you can go skipping off out the window on your merry fucking way to all those many, many people who care about you and are grateful for all your good deeds and hard work?’

‘Yes please,’ Peter says. He doesn’t squeak, and he doesn’t shut up just because Deadpool told him too, either. He was done talking anyway.

‘Right.’ Deadpool’s anger is strange, a sudden flare of rage that is almost to the point of terrifying, but it’s very rarely more than just a flash – at least as far as Peter sees. He knows from Deadpool’s rep and the rumours and SHIELD and, on occasion, from Deadpool himself, that it often takes a bit more time and a lot more bloodshed for the anger to pass. As it is, standing in front of Peter in his squalid apartment, Deadpool seems to almost regret snapping. ‘I’ll just go find… Can’t remember the last time I really needed one, but there’s gotta be some first aid kit here somewhere, right?’

‘I’d hope you’d know that better than me, since, uh. We’re in your apartment.’ 

Peter is not proud of his jarred, almost reluctant phrasing, but he’s not entirely sure if he should speak again yet. But it seems to work, putting things back on an even keel. To some extent, because he’s still pretty on edge.

Deadpool snorts. ‘My apartment, right,’ he mutters, and kicks a bag of empty beer cans out of the way on his way to the kitchen. Peter watches as one can rolls out of the bag and a few feet across the floor before coming to a stop. He waits for something to crawl out of it. Nothing does, but he tucks his feet up under himself anyway.

After a few moments, Deadpool returns with a first aid kit that doesn’t look like it hasn’t been used in a while – it looks like it’s _never_ been used. The white box is nearly brown. Peter eyes it suspiciously. 

‘The best I can do at such short notice, Spidey,’ Deadpool says when he sees Peter staring at it. ‘It’s either this or you go pick a needle out of a dumpster, and we all know what kind of shit that can lead to.’

Peter blinks. ‘Different kind of needle, Deadpool.’

Deadpool sits down on the other cushion and starts to reach for Peter before stopping. Peter waits. 

‘You’re gonna need to turn round, baby boy.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ Peter grumbles, and does as he’s told. There’s a lengthy pause, and he turns to look over his shoulder. Deadpool is looking intently away from the wound. ‘Everything alright back there? Is it really gross? Too gross even for you? Oh man, it’s not gone green, has it? Am I turning scaly?’

‘Who are you, the Green Goblin?’ Deadpool mutters. ‘I’d be more concerned about black and slimy if I were you.’

‘It’s gone _black?’_ Peter asks, trying not to sound panicked. Deadpool snickers.

‘No, I meant… hypothetically. Keep an eye out for black slime, Spidey, you don’t wanna deal with that.’

Peter pretends he has some idea what Deadpool’s talking about and nods sincerely. ‘So what’s the hold up?’

Deadpool doesn’t answer for a second, and when he does, his voice is light and cheery, the same kind of voice Peter uses with Aunt May when he doesn’t want her to worry or know there might be something wrong. It’s so false it almost makes Peter’s skin crawl.

‘You sure you want me to deal with this for you?’

‘Why, you think there’s a chance you can make it worse? Is your sewing really that bad?’

‘I’m better at crochet,’ Deadpool quips back without hesitation. ‘I just figure you might want someone you can trust a bit more to see you all bare skinned and spandex-less.’

Peter smirks behind the mask. ‘I’m not taking the whole suit off, am I?’ He ignores the muttered ‘shame’ from behind him in favour of continuing to talk and pretending he’s not blushing. ‘Just cut away enough to expose the wound. If you can track me down from just having seen a patch of my shoulder you deserve to make money from being a mercenary.’

‘Really?’

‘No.’

He falls silent as Deadpool finally gets to work, the cold metal of the scissors on his skin jarring at first, as the shreds around the edges get cut away. He hisses at the first press of the antiseptic wipe clearing away the dried blood and Deadpool calls him a baby under his breath. By the time the needle finally pierces the skin he’s mostly unaffected. He takes another look around Deadpool’s apartment.

‘You know, considering you earn money for what you do and you’re supposed to be very good at what you do–’

He actually breaks off and waits for the inevitable ‘which isn’t very nice’ growled behind him in an imitation of Wolverine’s voice before continuing.

‘Your apartment is really, uh…’

Peter searches for the perfect word and comes up with ‘hideous’ at the exact same time that Deadpool supplies ‘interesting’ with an almost hopeful lilt to his voice.

‘Um.’

‘Oh.’

There’s a brief pause.

‘Is this even your place?’

Deadpool scoffs. ‘You sure think highly of me, huh, Spidey?’

‘You don’t exactly encourage faith in your character.’

Deadpool hums and pulls the needle through. ‘You make a compelling point. Yeah, this is my place, for now. I just choose to spend my money on things more important to me than home decor. Things like food, weapons, privacy, more weapons…’

‘I think I get it.’

‘The downside of not having a secret identity is I often come home to find nasty people who want to kill me waiting in my apartment. I care more that once they’re dealt with I can afford to quickly move to a new place where it’ll take a bit longer to be found again than I care about repainting the walls. I give the money to cover restoration and fixer up jobs to my landlord and get the fuck out of dodge. Take a trip somewhere, get some time out of the city. It’s not like I get visitors who are gonna complain about the squalor very often. It’s all relative, bug boy, and I like my money well spent.’

Peter’s gaze is fixed on the knife still embedded in the wall. Deadpool notices where he’s looking and laughs.

‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing a quick plaster job can’t fix.’

‘I’m kind of worried right now that I’m even thinking this, but you’re making a lot of sense,’ Peter says slowly. Deadpool hums again, and it sounds a bit cheerier this time. The needle gives a final tug and Peter feels the ends being tied. Deadpool is surprisingly delicate given the fact he’s still wearing his gloves. The leather drags over the healthy skin of Peter’s shoulder and manages to avoid the newly sewed-up wound. It feels warm and not at all unpleasant. Peter swears he feels Deadpool’s thumb brush along the cut away edge of his suit but the touch is too gentle and brief to speak up about it.

Then Deadpool pushes himself up onto his feet and offers Peter his hand. Peter looks at it for a moment before Deadpool wiggles his fingers in encouragement. So he takes it and lets Deadpool pull him up.

‘You gonna be able to swing home alright?’

‘I think I’ll be fine.’

‘And next time you want to pop in for a quick fix up, you just let me know. I mean it, let me know, ‘cause you’re always welcome Spidey, like I said, mi casa es tu casa, but sneaking up on me is a pretty dumbass move considering I’m almost always heavily armed and definitely always highly dangerous.’

‘That’s a big ask coming from the guy who broke into my apartment last week and didn’t even bother to wake me up before deciding to crash in my kitchen.’

‘I thought we established that entering without any actual breaking means I technically didn’t break in at all. Besides, you’re not the kind of guy who’s gonna panic and stab someone who turns up on the inside side of your window. I’m really only looking out for your safety here, baby boy.’

Peter hopes his mask hides his smile. ‘What did I say about calling me that?’

‘Uh, that it totally turns you on? Or was that just what I heard, rather than what you said?’

‘Definitely not what I said.’

‘Not necessarily untrue though?’

‘I’m going now, Deadpool.’

Peter makes his way back over to the window and ignores Deadpool’s triumphant crow behind him.

‘Ha! That’s an escapist strategy, I know avoidant methods when I see them, this is when you make a quick escape to avoid admitting the truth without having to outright lie.’

Peter eases himself back out onto the fire escape, careful not to catch his shoulder on the window pane. Deadpool leans out and holds out his fist. Peter rolls his eyes, but bumps his against Deadpool’s anyway.

‘Get home safe,’ Deadpool fake coos. ‘Call me when you get in so I know you didn’t hit a building and turn into bug spray. You know like when you’re speeding in a car and your window’s just covered in little crushed insects that got smooshed when they flew into the glass?’

‘Yes, Deadpool, I know what you mean. I’ll make sure I don’t become bug smoosh.’ Peter pauses, and turns to look at Deadpool, hoping his sincerity comes across through the mask. ‘And thanks for this, you really did me a solid here, Wade. Goodnight.’

He swings away before Deadpool can react up close, but he still hears it from afar when Deadpool cheers and calls after him, ‘I knew you loved me too baby!’

–--

Less than a week later, Peter’s pursuing his would-be mugger from the stabbing incident.

The would-be mugger is now a fully grown adult male mugger with one count of assault to add to his resume, and Peter’s following him through the Bronx streets via rooftops and walls. He knows the mugger is running from him, having had a second of awkward eye contact when he landed a little too heavily on a fire escape a few storeys above the mugging. He had waved and the mugger had run.

Hence, the chase.

Peter will admit this one has a touch of the personal to it. Not quite as much as how he first started out, but this guy is a criminal and a danger to the public and the fact that he _stabbed_ Peter the last time they met is just adding insult to injury.

He swings a sharp right when the mugger turns down a smaller street, following closely each twist and turn and backtrack he makes. Eventually, the guy slows down in an alley, bending double to catch his breath, and Peter makes his move.

‘You know, you really gave me a run for my money there. Am I getting old? I feel like I’m getting slower, that shouldn’t have been as much hard work as it was.’

The mugger produces his familiar knife and Peter cuts off his spiel to roll his eyes and sigh. He shoots a web and snatches the knife for himself with a quick flick of his wrist.

‘Fool me once, dickbag.’

When the mugger the produces a gun, Peter feels a slight itch of concern.

A red wall appears seemingly out of nowhere, dropping down in front of Peter and shoving him backwards. Peter lifts his gaze when the mugger starts firing, meets Deadpool’s eyes through the mask.

‘You know, I’m starting to think this is what the X-Men mean when they talk about backup and teamwork and friendship bracelets and shared bedrooms.’

‘Are you literally getting _shot_ right now?’ Peter asks, considerably less calm, much more high pitched, bordering on hysterical, and without any dignity at all. Deadpool just laughs and chucks him under the chin. When his hand goes for one of his katanas, Peter opens his mouth to argue, but Deadpool just shoves him again. It doesn’t hurt, even if it does send him somewhat sprawling.

‘Did you just empty a whole clip on me?’ Deadpool asks the mugger. ‘Now that is flattering.’

Peter can’t help but watch as Deadpool kicks out, his foot knocking the gun away and twisting the mugger’s wrist at an unpleasant angle. He pulls out the katana and digs the hilt into the mugger’s stomach, winding him and making him bend double again, heaving for breath. The blade knicks across the back of the man’s calves and he ends up kneeling. Deadpool looks down at his handiwork, and Peter sees the moment that he decides he’s done enough, sheathing his sword and turning away.

He crouches down in front of Peter, head cocked. Peter pushes himself up so he’s not quite so spread out in such an embarrassing way –

_for a second he imagines wrapping his arms around deadpool’s shoulders, pulling the bigger man down on top of him, holding him there with his arms and legs and making him pin peter down_

– and raises his fist. Deadpool bumps his own against Peter’s silently, then grabs his hand and pulls him to his feet.

‘You just took a lot of bullets for me,’ Peter says. Deadpool shrugs, like it was nothing.

‘It was nothing, Spider Babe. I barely even felt it. You’d have come out of that a lot worse if I hadn’t been here.’

‘I’ve been shot,’ Peter admits as he webs the mugger in place. ‘It wasn’t fun.’

Deadpool stills and Peter remembers his reaction to hearing that Peter got stabbed.

‘It was a long time ago,’ he adds quickly. ‘No harm done. Just a badass scar on my leg.’

Peter sees Deadpool’s expression under the mask shift at the word scar. He puts it on the backburner for now, because Deadpool just got _shot._

‘Are you okay? Did it hurt? Do you need to find somewhere to heal?’

‘Yes, yes, and no, not really, not unless that’s an invitation back to your place.’

Peter hesitates a second too long.

‘I’m kidding, Spidey. Bullet wounds are nothing, probably healing up real nice already. What do we do about that sack of shit?’

‘I call the police and they come and collect him.’ 

‘Remember when all the cops in the city fucking _hated_ you?’

Peter rolls his eyes. ‘How could I ever forget. You sure you’re gonna be okay? I feel like I should be doing something to repay you. I’m pretty sure you taking several bullets for me constitutes me owing you one.’

‘Nah,’ Deadpool says, waving him away. ‘It really doesn’t. Maybe if I’d died, or was at risk of dying, but not even then, really, because I’d just come back anyway…’ Deadpool trails off and stretches, probably to check the muscles in his back, Peter’s sure, there must have been a good reason that wasn’t just because it makes every muscle in his front flex too.

These days it feels like the only reason he’s even wearing this mask is to hide when he blushes.

‘Although, now you mention it, if you really want to do me a huge favour, Spider Pal…’

‘Anything you want,’ Peter says immediately, which, in retrospect, is not the smartest thing that he could say. Luckily, other than closing his eyes and muttering something about needing to go to Church, Deadpool doesn’t comment.

‘Any chance you could swing me home?’

Deadpool is surprisingly quiet on the way home, his arms around Peter’s shoulders and his legs around Peter’s waist. His weight isn’t too much of a hindrance and it’s not that Peter, with his super-strength that means he’s technically stronger than Deadpool, can’t carry him, it’s just… It’s distracting. Peter is willing to admit, at this point, that he’s into Deadpool’s body, at least when it’s suited. 

He hasn’t really thought about the attraction thing so much, because he doesn’t know what Deadpool actually looks like under the suit. What he has thought about is the size difference, and having it pressed up against him like this is definitely going to play on his thoughts for a while. But he gets them back to Deadpool’s apartment, and that’s the main thing.

Deadpool is surprisingly graceful when he slides into his open window. Peter lingers awkwardly on the fire escape, unsure whether to leave or not. Then Deadpool pokes his head back out and follows it with an arm, which he reaches out to Peter.

‘I don’t know what your plans are for the night, but I think we should finally make good on that pizza and a movie plan.’

Peter could go home and sleep – probably take a bit of private time to think about Deadpool’s muscles a bit more – and get in a fair few hours rest before he has to get up for work.

Or, he could take Deadpool’s hand again.

‘I meant to say, good job on not killing that guy,’ he says. Deadpool rubs the back of his head with his other hand. ‘Was that just for my benefit?’

‘I’ve got a lot of alternative scenarios where he pays much more viscerally for hurting you playing in my head, believe me,’ Deadpool answers. The sincerity in his voice wraps beautifully around the steel of his tone, and Peter does believe him. He’s a little afraid that Deadpool would kill someone for hurting him, but he’s also… Damn, he’s _into_ it.

Which is why he takes a step back and watches Deadpool’s outstretched hand freeze and curl in on itself.

‘I’ve got a big work day tomorrow,’ he says.

‘I wasn’t really gonna kill him,’ Deadpool says at the same time. He sounds almost hurt, and Peter regrets his decision already.

They fall silent for a little while. Deadpool pulls his arm back inside and bounces on his feet a little.

‘Well, I need to go pull some bullets out of my back before I heal around them, so I’ll see you later, Spider Man.’ 

‘Wait,’ Peter says hurriedly, and Deadpool actually listens, pausing. ‘That sounds… Do you need a hand with that?’ 

Deadpool laughs and waves carelessly. ‘I wouldn’t ask you to get your hands dirty for me, Spidey. You don’t wanna see shit like that. I can do it myself.’

Peter wants to ask if Deadpool’s sure but instead he just nods and watches as he closes the window.

–--

Peter goes back to Deadpool’s apartment two days later with two large pizzas, and finds it empty. There’s bullet holes in the old sofa and a fresh bloodstain on the wall that wasn’t there before. There’s also a hefty pile of money on the table which Peter assumes is for the poor landlord. He remembers what Deadpool said about people coming for him and wonders what he’s missed. 

He tries the window anyway, but it’s locked.

–--

It’s been almost three weeks since Peter’s seen Deadpool, and it’s not exactly that he misses him, the big masked weirdo, it’s just that he forgets to close the window when he gets back from his patrol more often now.

Peter assumes he’s just out of town, most likely on ‘business’ – remembering what Deadpool told him before, Peter thinks it’d make sense for him to take a job just after an attempt on his life. It kind of sucks, because he still hasn’t managed to make up for accidentally offending the merc the last time he saw him, which, despite Deadpool’s efforts to laugh it off and act like it wasn’t happening at the time, Peter feels pretty bad about.

He also remembers what Deadpool said about moving somewhere new, which Peter gets, because who would want to live somewhere they know dangerous and potentially lethal people can find them.

He doesn’t think about whether that’s a hypocritical view to hold, considering he’s still in the same apartment where Deadpool, masked mercenary, hitman for hire, knows he lives.

The point is, he knows it’s highly unlikely that Deadpool would go back to his old place upon returning to the city, but for some reason Peter can’t help but swing by occasionally anyway. Just to check in. Last time he passed, glancing in at the living room, the replastering work was half finished, fixing up the bullet holes and blade incisions in the walls. Tonight, the apartment is decorated with new wallpaper, the old bloodstains long gone, and half the visible floor is re-carpeted. Soon it will be like Deadpool never lived there, and Peter wonders how many New Yorkers are actually living in the previous abodes of a contract killer, none of them any the wiser. 

It’s a quiet night in the city. He wrestles an overgrown rat in the sewer and breaks one of its forearms before he realises it wasn’t hurting anyone until he came down and disturbed it. Then he feels bad, and fixes it some sort of half-hearted cast from his web-shooter. He makes a mental note to keep an eye out for any heroes with veterinarian skills, and heads home. 

The window is closed. Peter stares at it for a second, feeling a smile spread across his face under the mask. He left it on the latch when he left for his patrol, which means he has a late night visitor. But that doesn’t mean there’s only one person it could be, so he schools his expression and maintains a degree of caution as he eases quietly through his window. His spider-sense isn’t tingling, though, so he feels pretty optimistic.

He ends up feeling less and less optimistic as he notices the blood on his bedroom floor and follows it through his apartment. On one hand, he’s glad to see Deadpool again, even if he won’t admit it out loud. On the other, Deadpool is lying on his back on Peter’s living room floor, the trail of blood leading the way from the window, clutching at a wound in his head and gasping for breath. His chest seems to be caving in, his ribs bent inwards at weird angles under the suit. Peter approaches slowly, hands held open in front of him, as Deadpool heaves. 

_‘Wade?’_

Deadpool lifts his head at the sound of Peter’s soft voice, and his response is cheerful, if a little hoarse sounding.

‘Baby boy! I missed you Spidey, can’t wait to catch you up on it all, I’ve got so many stories for you.’

‘I think this one’s the most pressing,’ Peter replies, unable to keep from bantering back as he lowers himself to his knees, reaching out. Deadpool reaches out back at him, grabs his hand with a bloody glove. Peter watches the spurt of blood from the now uncovered bullet wound on the side of Deadpool’s head. The mask is torn, but there’s too much red for Peter to see any skin – or indeed flesh.

‘Mmm, good point,’ Deadpool answers brightly. ‘It’s a really great one, you’re gonna love it, full of me being a badass, and a wise ass, and totally kicking ass, except then I didn’t win because I didn’t kill them… Who would’ve guessed your whole ‘no killing’ rule doesn’t apply to the bad guys, huh Spidey?’ Peter blinks down at him. ‘Anyway, I hate to spoil the ending but I don’t have much choice right now. I’ll tell you the rest when I get back, alright? See you on the other side!’

And like a light going out, Deadpool dies.

\---

The thing about dying, Peter realises as he sits holding Deadpool’s still hand and looking around his own apartment, is that it’s messy, and it smells bad. He knows Deadpool won’t take too long to wake up again, but he hopes it’s sooner rather than later, before the stink starts to settle. He wonders if he should make a start on the clean up, and then he wonders if he should be checking Deadpool for anything that could hinder the healing process. He’s pretty sure Deadpool’s cells would regenerate around any bullets or debris buried in his skin, which would probably be an absolute nightmare. 

In considering this, he looks down at Deadpool’s masked face, and his mile-a-minute thoughts just stop. His mind goes quiet, and sort of fuzzy, because he can’t distract himself anymore from the realisation that Deadpool just _died._ Peter is bone tired, and his emotions always run hot when he gets to this point of exhaustion, and he lies down, still holding Deadpool’s hand, next to the body, and presses his forehead to the side of Deadpool’s mask. He inhales, the smell of leather and blood and gunpowder from the head wound that is so unsurprisingly Deadpool all over, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and a sob, because the fact is, whether he comes back or not, Deadpool is still-  _Wade_ is still lying dead on Peter’s floor.

‘You came to _me,’_ Peter says, voice soft and a little bit broken sounding, and then he huffs a breath and squeezes Wade’s hand tighter, and he waits.

It doesn’t take long, just over seven minutes according to the watch on Wade’s wrist. Peter sits up and watches in sick fascination as the bones in his torso start to move, making unpleasant cracking sounds as they fit back together, mending themselves into place. It’s a terrible noise, one that Peter suspects is an exact mirror of when they were broken. A few moments after Wade’s ribs still, as though they were never out of place to begin with, Peter turns his attention to the head wound, watching intently as the flesh starts to close up, all red and wet looking. The skin begins to heal over the top, but Peter looks away then, partly out of respect, but mostly because with a great heaving sound befitting someone returning from the dead, Wade breathes.

His chest hollows as he gasps his first breath, and the hand not gripping Peter’s fumbles for his mask, before hesitating. Peter squeezes the other hand.

‘You can take it off,’ he says quietly. ‘It’ll help you breathe.’

Wade shakes his head minutely and Peter is surprised by the silence. Wade is never silent.

‘I’ll turn away, if you like?’

After a pause, Wade gives a brief nod. Peter shifts, turning his back on Wade as much as he doesn’t want to, and listens instead to the sound of leather being pulled away from skin. Wade exhales with almost painful sounding force, and gasps again, swallowing oxygen like… Well, like a dead man. Peter frowns, staring at his own wall, and just listens. After a few moments, he hears the leather move again, and Wade tugs on his hand.

‘It’d be okay, you know,’ Peter says casually as he turns back around. He’s still holding Wade’s hand, the blood dried on his glove. ‘You’ve told me enough about yourself to not need to hide your face from me anymore. Remember, we had a whole conversation about your lack of a secret identity…’

‘It’s got a lot less to do with my identity than your mask does, Spidey,’ Wade says, somewhat lacking in his usual light-heartedness. Peter supposes it’s hard to be instantaneously cheery after coming back to life in a way that didn’t sound fun. ‘I’m not exactly about to win People’s Sexiest Man Alive, you know?’

‘Confidence issues?’ Peter asks, trying to infuse some humour into the conversation. _‘You?’_

‘You’d be surprised.’ There’s a hint of bitterness there and Peter’s forced smile drops away. He squeezes Wade’s hand again.

‘It’s okay that you don’t want to show me, too, you know,’ he says, voice soft. ‘I wasn’t gonna… I wouldn’t press…’

‘Trust me, it’s as much for your own good as mine. You’d like me even less if you saw my face. But I assume this means I don’t have to worry about you taking a peek while I was worm food?’

‘Jesus, that’s awful, don’t say that,’ Peter says, his stomach churning unpleasantly. ‘And no, of course you don’t. Dammit, Wade, I wouldn’t…’

‘Relax, baby bug, I’m just, you know, shittalking.’

‘So you’ve made a full recovery then,’ Peter says drily. Wade laughs and starts to push himself up, stopping when he realises Peter’s still holding his hand. He looks down at their fingers, wrapped around each other, and under his mask Peter blushes and lets go. Wade shakes his head like he can’t believe it, and Peter quickly tries to change the subject. ‘Anyway, before you, uh, passed, you were telling me a story?’

‘Right!’ Wade says cheerfully, and launches back into it. After taking a job for some Bad Guys which involved getting rid of some worse guys, he made the executive decision to not kill said Worse Guys – _‘Aren’t you proud of me, Spidey?’ ‘Absolutely.’_ – which the Bad Guys didn’t take too kindly to and decided to finish the job on the Worse Guys and then send some Bad Guys to New York to take care of Wade himself. Peter’s paraphrasing, of course; Wade’s version of the story is lengthy, gruesome, and features many more creative names for the Bad and Worse Guys.

‘Except they didn’t do me in properly, and I didn’t want to die in the alley next to your apartment like a sad broken Romeo doll, so I managed to hobble my way up here, by some fucking _miracle,_ and then you, like the angel that you always are, had left the window on the latch and I dragged my way in and prepared for you to come home and find me dead, and then you came home before I actually kicked it and found me dying instead, and then–’

‘I know, I was here for that part.’

‘–you held my hand while I shuffled off this mortal coil like the best friend I never knew I had.’

Peter shakes his head, fondly, and then remembers Wade’s throwaway comment from earlier.

‘You know I don’t dislike you, right?’

At that, Wade visibly freezes. The eyes of his mask are fixed firmly on Peter’s and the expression underneath, while hidden, is almost certainly one of surprise. Peter frowns to himself again.

‘I held your hand while you died, dude. I held it until you came back. We’ve been hanging out for a while now. Not to get all mushy on you, but I think we might even be starting to become friends.’

Wade is uncharacteristically quiet and Peter is almost tempted to snap his fingers in front of his face to make sure he hasn’t died again. He doesn’t have chance, though, as Wade’s arms wrap around him and pull him in for a strange sitting down hug. Their knees aren’t touching, but their chests are crushed together, and Peter’s been doing a really good job until now at ignoring his _maybe crush_ on Wade, but now he knows how those muscles feel against his body and Wade’s arms totally span his entire back, biceps warm on his spine and he’s a goner, he’s done for, he’s… 

He’s hugging back and smiling into the fabric of his mask, suddenly incredibly relieved that Wade really did come back.

‘I don’t like watching you die,’ he mutters and Wade huffs a laugh. 

‘Next time I won’t do it on your living room floor.’

‘It’s okay,’ Peter hedges gently. ‘Just give a guy some warning next time, alright?’

‘You got it. Next time I’ll scream the whole building down.’

‘Oh my God, _no,’_ Peter says, but he’s laughing.

\---

The next morning, Wade is gone, but on the kitchen counter there’s a stack of pancakes, and a piece of paper with an address written on it, as well as about forty kisses. Peter smiles to himself and sticks it on the pinboard in his bedroom.

He’s possibly in a little over his head, but he thinks he’s starting to be okay with it.

\---

Wade showing up out of the blue and dying distracted Peter a little from the whole _making-it-up-to-Wade-for-accidentally-offending-him_ thing, so less than a week later he’s at Wade’s new apartment, crouched on the fire escape and balancing two pizza boxes in one hand as he knocks on the window with the other.

Wade lets him in easily, doesn’t even question him being there. As though he should be there. Peter needs to get this thing in check, because he’s gone from noticing Wade’s physique to finding his body attractive to feeling warm things in his chest whenever he makes the merc laugh and he still doesn’t even know what Wade looks like under the suit. He likes the suit, a lot, it really helps define Wade’s, uh, attributes, but the more he starts to like Wade the more curious he gets. He needs to get it in check, because it’s probably not the best idea he’s ever had.

The new apartment is nicer than the old one, probably because Wade hasn’t lived there long enough to turn it into a hellscape. Peter points this out and Wade trips him on his way into the kitchen in retaliation.

Peter opens the pizza boxes up on Wade’s kitchen table and proudly gestures to them.

‘Pineapple and olive,’ he says brightly, and Wade seems to stare at him. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You remembered? Catch me, Spidey, I’m gonna fucking swoon.’

‘I only remembered because it’s so gross,’ Peter mutters, flushing as he folds his arms across his chest. Wade nods, believing him, and grabs a slice. He hesitates, looks at Peter. ‘What’s wrong?’ 

Wade points at his face, and realisation clicks in Peter’s brain. ‘I’m gonna have to… Promise you won’t scream, alright?’

‘Wade, seriously, I mean it, I’m really not gonna be that freaked out about it.’

‘We’ll see,’ Wade mutters darkly, and then stops again. ‘Hey, bug boy, when was the last time you called me Deadpool?’

Peter blushes. He’d hoped that if Wade had noticed, he wouldn’t mention it. No such luck there.

‘Uh, well. Before you died on my living room floor last week?’

‘Why, Spidey! After all this time, that’s what pushed you over? Shit, if I knew that was all it would take to earn first name basis with you, I’d have jumped off a roof months ago.’

‘Not funny,’ Peter says, fighting back a smile. ‘It just put some things in perspective, I guess. That’s all.’

‘What kinds of things?’ Wade asks, but then he’s rolling up the bottom of his mask to take a bite of his pizza and Peter’s gawking thankfully distracts him from the question. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he says through a mouthful of food. ‘Surprise.’

The exposed part of Wade’s face is completely scarred, seemingly pockmarked, without any unaffected skin visible. Peter suspects from the way Wade talks about himself that he looks like that all over. He’s staring, he knows, but he can’t stop.

‘Disgusting, huh?’ Wade asks. His voice is casual but there’s wariness underneath the words.

Disgusting, yeah, probably, but Peter isn’t _disgusted_ by it. It’s most likely the result of some physical trauma, but Wade’s probably had enough pity for one lifetime – or several. So Peter just shrugs and grabs his own slice of BBQ chicken special with extra sweet peppers and rolls up his own mask to reveal his mouth, taking a huge bite.

‘You’ve got tomato on your chin,’ he says when he’s swallowed, and he smiles. After a moment, Wade grins back.

It’s easy after that. Peter points out that he brought the pizza, so Wade needs to choose a film, and Wade realises what he’s saying and hugs him again. It’s like now he knows he’s allowed to, he doesn’t want to stop. And Peter’s not about to complain, so he just returns the hug and not-so-secretly wipes his messy hands on Wade’s back. Wade pinches his side in retaliation and Peter quickly steps back before it devolves into a tickle war, because that really wouldn’t help him with getting his thing in check.

Wade chooses Lethal Weapon, because he’s ‘a sucker for the classics.’ Peter, while not a sucker for the classics, is totally a sucker for 80s action movies, and settles down happily into the couch with his pizza and a bottle of beer from Wade’s fridge.

For a little while, he’s somewhat self-conscious, sat there with his mask still rolled up, especially after Wade subtly rolled his back down. He sits with his hand curled around his jaw, until Wade elbows him in the side.

‘You know every time you come here you end up exposing more of your body to me? You noticed that baby boy? How many more visits until I get to see you naked?’

Peter rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer.

‘Seriously, though, you know we’re watching one of the greatest fuckin’ movies of all time right now, don’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ Peter admits, because it is a great movie. 

‘So I’m not gonna sit here staring at your mouth, no matter how pretty your lips are. I’ve got way more reason to be self-conscious about my butter face.’

‘You’ve rolled your mask back down,’ Peter points out. ‘I’m still eating.’

‘That’s just ‘cause you’re a slow eater,’ Wade mutters, but he pulls his mask up to his nose again anyway. ‘There, now we’re even again. That better?’

For some reason, it really is. Peter nods shyly and gives Wade a small smile as he drops his hand from his face. Wade elbows him in the ribs again, gentler this time, and returns his attention to the movie. After that, Peter concentrates on drinking his beer so Wade doesn’t notice he kind of can’t stop grinning.

Halfway through Lethal Weapon 2, he falls asleep on the sofa, curled up in the corner of it. When he wakes up, there’s a red blanket tucked around him, and Wade’s in the kitchen making bacon and eggs. He’s dressed in his suit and mask, face fully covered this time. Peter’s rolled his own down, but only until the food’s served. He wonders if Wade wears his suit all the time, even when he’s alone, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he lingers in the doorway of the kitchen to look at Wade’s ass for a few moments before announcing his presence with a loud, exaggerated yawn. Then he hops onto the kitchen table and watches Wade cook. It’s disgustingly domestic, and Peter really isn’t going to be able to get this thing in check if it carries on.

The more he thinks about stopping it just to put off dealing with the crush he’s still halfway denying he has, the less he cares about keeping the damn thing in check anyway.

‘You sleep well, baby boy?’ 

‘You should try and keep this apartment for as long as you can,’ Peter says by way of reply. ‘That couch is super comfy.’

‘I know, right? I usually end up sleeping there most nights when I sleep, pass out around 3am during a Golden Girls marathon. Always wake up with a crick in my neck from leaning awkwardly on the arm cushion and this suit really digs in when you sleep on your side for a few hours, but it’s like the fucking thing was made from unicorn fur it’s so soft.’

Peter watches Wade push scrambled eggs round the frying pan as he continues to talk about how great his own couch is, and beams under his mask.

He eats breakfast with Wade happily, then goes on a quick morning patrol before heading home to get ready for his afternoon class. If he jerks off in the shower thinking about how big Wade’s hand was on his side when they hugged goodbye, nobody else has to know.

\---

The next time Wade visits, two weeks later, Peter isn’t really in the mood. 

He’s sprawled over the kitchen table doing some last minute studying, cramming for a test he completely forgot he had, when Wade pushes the window open and starts climbing through with a loud announcement of his presence. Peter sighs and quickly pulls his mask on before turning to see Wade emerge from his bedroom carrying a takeout bag.

‘Didn’t see you on patrol out there, bug boy, thought I’d come round and surprise you with some late night dinner. It is taco Tuesday, after all.’

‘No, it’s _not,_ Wade, it’s Monday.’ 

Wade puts the bags on the kitchen counter and rolls up his sleeve to look at his watch. 

‘Four, three, two, one… Happy taco Tuesday, Spider Babe, get ‘em while they’re still lukewarm and only slightly soggy! Sorry about that, it turns out you don’t have a Mexican place close to your apartment so I had to go on a bit of a search to find one and it was so fucking far away, and then it took me ages to get them back here because I totally stopped a mugging using non-lethal force so they’re not really hot anymore. Oops.’

Peter sighs and turns around to see Wade barely hesitating before rolling up his mask to take a bite out of a taco, and it does make him smile and feel embarrassingly warm inside, that Wade is starting to feel more comfortable around Peter now, but…

‘There’s a reason I wasn’t out on patrol tonight, Wade, I’m kind of in the middle of something.’ 

‘Mhm?’ Wade manages to articulate through a mouthful of stuffed tortilla. Peter sighs again, and barely resists rubbing his temples.

‘I’m just… I’m a bit busy, right now? With school stuff? This wasn’t really a good time…’

Wade seems to get the message then, as his chewing slows and he swallows audibly, looking from the taco in his hand to the bag on the side to Peter, surrounded by papers at the table. 

‘Shit. Yeah, I can see that, sorry Spidey. I'll leave you alone, I'll leave you half the food. Make sure you eat it when you’re finished, alright, I don’t want it to go to waste and you need the nutrition.’

Peter blinks at Wade behind his mask. Wade doesn’t notice Peter’s surprise, neatly splitting the food between them and putting his own portion into a separate bag before rolling his mask down. Peter feels bad, but this really is important.

‘Sorry, Wade, it’s just… I totally forgot that I needed to do this and you…’

‘I know, I’m so devilishly sexy you’ll be hopelessly distracted.’ Wade’s teasing, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice that is frustrating in and of itself because Peter kind of wants to shout about how Wade has no goddamn idea how _right_ he is. ‘Don’t worry about it, just don’t forget to eat.’

‘I won’t,’ Peter assures him, and watches as he makes his way back towards Peter’s bedroom and the open window. Then he stands up and takes a couple of steps into the living room. ‘Wade?' 

Wade turns around, pointing at himself in mock-surprise. Peter rolls his eyes.

‘You wanna come on patrol tomorrow night? Tomorrow night as in Wednesday night, not Tuesday night, Tuesday night counts as tonight, as we’ve already established.’

After a moment, Wade grins, visible under the mask. ‘Sure thing Spider Babe. Meet you on the corner at eleven?’

‘It’s a date,’ Peter says, and doesn’t bother to take it back even when Wade laughs. Wade, in turn, realises Peter isn’t backtracking, and stops, looking at him for a few moments.

‘Uh–’

‘See you tomorrow night, Wade,’ Peter says with a grin and a casual wave, returning to the kitchen table. He hears Wade mutter something to himself, but he leaves a few minutes later, and Peter hears the window close and lock behind him. He diligently makes his way through the rest of his cramming, and when he finally stops at nearly 2am to microwave one of the tacos, he eats it thinking that he would’ve had a lot more fun with Wade around.

\---

After spending Tuesday night passed out facedown on top of his bed, exhausted from having no sleep and fighting to stay awake during the exam which he’s fairly confident he somehow managed to ace, Peter’s actively looking forward to patrol on Wednesday. He likes his nighttime patrols. They’re usually a bit more active than his morning routines, not that he celebrates the presence of crime in his city. He just prefers to have something to do, although sometimes it’s nice just to swing up to a rooftop and watch the sunrise.

Plus, he’s looking forward to seeing Wade. He’s not really counting the brief visit on Tuesday morning as them really hanging out, which means it’s been over two weeks since they actually spent quality time together and, well. Peter’s crush has taken offence at that. He doesn’t know if Wade’s really thinking of it as a date, but at this point Peter’s given up on holding back, and as far as he’s concerned, it’s definitely a date.

They race each other across rooftops, heading from Peter’s end of town up towards the river, taking out petty criminals as they do. At one point Wade almost gets stabbed and Peter goes slightly over the top webbing the culprit to a wall, and while he’s certainly nowhere near close to killing the guy, he may have done some lasting damage to his nethers. Wade loves it, gleefully shouting ‘crotch shot’ every time Peter lands a shot there. 

‘You didn’t have to do that for little ol’ me, Spidey,’ Wade says, voice jokingly simpering as they leave, scaling the walls up and away from the crime scene at the sound of approaching sirens. ‘I can take care of myself.’

‘You took several bullets for me a while back, remember?’ Peter points out. ‘Only fair I keep you from being stabbed when I can.’

‘Yeah, but you wouldn’t have recovered like me,’ Wade points out, and Peter scowls.

‘And it sucked. I hated watching you die and I hated how painfully the recovery looked. You were suffering, and I don’t want to watch that again anytime soon,’ he says forcefully. Wade stops halfway up a set of fire escape stairs and turns to Peter’s wall. Peter stops climbing as Wade stares at him for a second, before he sees a smile slowly stretching under the mask. 

‘Now, baby boy, I don’t wanna seem too forward here, but do you maybe have a bit of a cru–’

‘You wanna go back to your place?’ Peter interrupts, because if they’re doing this tonight, they aren’t doing it on separate walls either side of an alley. Wade stares at him some more, and then laughs brightly. Peter realises then that Wade was probably only joking, but what the hell. If the gig is up, he’ll face it like a man. Besides, when Wade answers, he sounds enthusiastic enough that it doesn’t really matter to Peter whether he was joking or not.

‘Damn fucking straight.’

\---

Peter stands on the fire escape as Wade eases himself through the window, and after a moment his hand reaches back out. Peter can see him looking out through the glass, and it’s a throwback to that night several weeks ago. He looks at Wade’s gloved hand, open in front of him.

‘This was your idea, bug boy, don’t start thinking about pulling a vanishing act again because you’re scared of what will happen inside. Sometimes you just gotta take that leap of faith, you know? Who knows what’ll happen? I mean I’ve got a pretty good idea of what I’d like to happen, but what I want from the universe and what the universe gives me are usually vastly fucking different. You coming or not?’

Peter grabs hold of Wade’s hand and lets him help Peter through the opening. The apartment is still in a good condition, although a little bit messier than the last time Peter was here.

‘Have a seat,’ Wade says, gesturing to the super comfy unicorn fur couch. ‘Just try not to fall asleep straight away, okay?’

The _we have things to talk about_ stays silent, but it doesn’t go unheard. Peter nods and stretches out on the couch, rolling up his mask to his nose when he hears Wade grab two bottles out the fridge.

‘You want anything to eat?’ Wade calls. ‘I can cook.’

‘I know you can cook,’ Peter replies, rolling his eyes, his voice fond. ‘Those pancakes you made me were delicious.’

‘You’re so welcome, Spidey,’ Wade laughs. Peter laughs too, then hesitates.

‘I can whip up some mac ‘n cheese?’ Wade continues, just as Peter says loudly, _‘Peter.’_  

There’s a pause. Peter blushes.

‘Mac ‘n cheese sounds good,’ he calls. 

‘Peter what?’ Wade asks at the same time.

After another pause, they both laugh. Wade appears in the doorway with two bottles of beer. He holds one out and Peter leans over to take it.

‘Peter,’ he repeats. ‘That’s my name.’ He holds up his bottle. ‘Cheers, Wade.’

‘Cheers, Peter,’ Wade says, and his exposed mouth is split into a wide grin as he clinks their bottles together.

Then the window smashes and the door bursts open and all hell breaks loose.

From the comments shouted back and forth between Wade and the invaders, it seems to Peter that these are the mercenaries the Bad Guys from the last job sent to kill Wade. Peter assumes they don’t know that that just isn’t possible, and they’re back to try again. Wade’s doing really well with his non-lethal streak, and it’s coming back to bite him in the ass. Peter would apologise, but instead he’s stuck himself to the ceiling, watching as Wade fights.

And Wade fights like nothing Peter’s seen before. Peter’s seen Wade fight before, sure, but always with the intention of killing and usually taking the fastest route there. Tonight, he wheels around the room carefully, dodging blows and bullets like a ballerina, landing powerful kicks and slashing with his katanas, always meeting his targets and never doing enough damage to be fatal. Peter doesn’t know if that’s just because Wade knows he’s there watching or because that’s who Wade is now. He still doesn’t like all the blood, it’s still a little gruesome for him, but he’s honestly taken aback by the skill Wade shows when he’s fighting without murderous intent.

‘How did you get your ass kicked last time?’ Peter calls down to him.

‘They had more guys last time,’ Wade yells back. ‘Fuckers probably thought I’d still be fucked up from the last beating they gave me. Joke’s on you, assholes, there’s no amount of bad guys with guns that can keep me down.’

Peter shoots a web at one of the mercenaries as he raises his gun, sticking his hand to the wall and keeping him there as Wade notices and aims a beautiful roundhouse kick to the guy’s head. He’s out cold, and then there’s only two left. Wade disarms them, literally, and after a second sheathes his katanas again, using his booted feet to ensure they’re all unconscious. Then he curses and examines the damage to his window.

‘Sorry you had to see all that, baby boy. You hurt?’ 

Peter doesn’t answer, just drops to the floor and makes sure he doesn’t land in any blood. He looks up at Wade, standing by the window frame.

‘You didn’t kill any of them,’ he says quietly. ‘You’re a really good fighter, Wade.’

Wade turns to him slowly, mouth pulled downwards in visible regret, because he is genuinely sorry that Peter had to see that violence, and Peter’s moving before he can even think about it – though thinking about it probably wouldn’t stop him – crossing the room and pulling his mask up and off as he does, dropping it on the floor behind him as he pushes into Wade’s space and leans up on his tip-toes to slot their mouths together.

It’s warm and soft and all too brief, but it’s also not been agreed upon, so Peter lingers for a only a few seconds before dropping back down to the balls of his feet, breaking away from the kiss. He can’t tell what Wade’s face is doing beneath the mask, other than the fact that his mouth is still open. He reaches out slowly, presses his gloved hand to Wade’s chest.

‘Wade? You okay?’ he asks, his voice soft. After a second, Wade licks his lips, closes his mouth, swallows, and opens it again.

‘Holy shit,’ he murmurs. ‘You just kissed me.’

‘Yeah,’ Peter says, and laughs quietly, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. ‘I didn’t want to be too forward, but I maybe have a bit of a crush on you?’

‘Awesome,’ Wade breathes, staring at Peter’s face, and Peter tries not to blush as Wade takes him in. ‘Holy shit,’ he says again, ‘look at you, Bambi eyes, no wonder I’m crazy for you.’

‘Shut up,’ Peter says with a laugh, dropping his gaze. He freezes when he feels Wade’s hands come up to rest lightly on his hips, relaxing when he squeezes.

‘You wanna kiss me again?’

‘Or you could kiss me this time, just a thought…’

Wade laughs and dips down, pressing his mouth to Peter’s and, oh. That’s better. Still soft, still warm, but deeper and closer as Wade’s lips move against his, tongue gentle when it licks forward, and Peter could get lost in this. He leans up into it, lifting his arms to wrap them around Wade’s shoulders, and Wade squeezes his hips again before letting go to wind his own arms around Peter’s waist and that’s even better.

‘I like your arms,’ Peter says when he pulls away to catch his breath. ‘They feel so big. Christ, you’re _really_ big.’

Wade lets out a low laugh and Peter rolls his eyes.

‘Maybe you’re just small.’

_‘Hey–’_

‘Smaller than me, anyway, you like that?’

Peter swallows and lets himself be moved back towards the couch, which is now riddled with bullet holes. Wade sits down and pulls Peter into his lap, kissing him again, hot and wet. Peter makes a pleased little noise and shifts closer, keeping them pressed together even as Wade pulls away again. 

‘Why are we stopping?’ 

Wade huffs a laugh against Peter’s skin. ‘Figured it’s about time I ask if you want to take my mask off.’ Peter stares at Wade, chewing almost unnoticeably on his bottom lip. His voice is all confidence and bluster, but he’s letting Peter into the part of him behind that. ‘I mean, you’ve shown me your face, and other than having you running screaming for the hills, I’ve got a lot less to lose by taking mine off.’ 

His gloved fingers stroke gently over Peter’s spine, and Peter could melt here and just not speak or move again, except… Yeah, he really does want to see Wade’s face. (The gloves, though, they can stay.) ‘Yeah. Yes, please.’ 

His hands move up from Wade’s shoulders to the fastening at the back of the mask. Wade flinches, minutely, and Peter pauses until he gets the nod to continue. Then he pulls open the fastening and quickly tugs the mask away. Quick and painless, like a bandaid.

Wade’s head is entirely hairless, and covered in the same pocked sort of scars. Some are larger than others, some seem more raw, redder and irritated looking. And his eyes are big and bright and Peter holds their gaze as he holds the back of Wade’s head and brings him closer for another kiss.

‘I’m not running anywhere,’ he says gently against Wade’s mouth. ‘And I’m definitely only screaming if you make me.’

‘Fuck,’ Wade mutters, and bites at Peter’s bottom lip. Peter’s pressing closer again when he hears footsteps pounding towards the apartment, enhanced hearing determined to ruin the moment. There’s a distant sound of sirens, and it’s definitely getting closer. ‘Shit!’

Peter laughs and carefully climbs off Wade’s lap, sprawling on the couch as Wade begins to rush around, grabbing all his essentials and piling them next to the broken window. He hurries into the bedroom and returns a moment later with two duffel bags – one empty and one packed with weapons – and a pile of money, which he gives to Peter. 

‘Give this to the landlord,’ he says with a quick grin. ‘He’ll be at the remains of the door any minute.’

Peter picks his way through the mess of the apartment, slightly disgusted with himself for completely forgetting about all the injured and unconscious hitmen around them while he and Wade made out in the debris, and waits by the shattered door frame. As he stands, he watches Wade shoving clothes into the second duffel bag, followed by the disk-holder full of DVDs and an assortment of toiletries. He smiles fondly to himself as Wade folds up the familiar red blanket.

‘So,’ he says casually, and Wade pauses to look up at him. He smiles. ‘You need somewhere to stay?’

Wade’s grin is almost blinding, and Peter barely even notices the irate landlord arrive, handing over the money with a distracted apology.

‘There’s more than enough there to cover the repairs and redecoration,’ Wade says brightly. ‘The cops will take care of these assbags. Tell our beloved boys in blue that they were sent by Bertrand Isanhov, okay? They’ll know what to do with them then. The rest of the money should cover your silence. You can tell anyone and everyone that Deadpool was here, no problem, but if anyone finds out my Bambi-eyed baby boy was here, I will fuck you up, understand?’

The landlord, sensibly, understands. He takes the money willingly, and leaves… not quite happily, but with very little audible complaint. Peter just smiles and watches Wade pack, and hopes his bed is big enough for them both.

\---

His bed is totally big enough for them both.

He wakes up the next morning to find himself curled towards Wade, who’s taken up a large portion of the bed, spread out and still in his suit, except for the mask. It was late by the time they got back, and Peter can’t remember getting changed for bed himself, so he’s not surprised that Wade’s still fully dressed.

He sits up, smiling down at Wade in a way that would make an onlooker feel sickened, and quietly leaves the room. Wade’s bags lie abandoned on the couch; he quickly tucks the ammo bag down the side of it, out of sight. Then he pads through to the kitchen and sets about making Wade his Welcome To Your New Home Lover Boy breakfast. It’s really just pancakes and coffee, but that’s the fancy title Peter’s given it in his head.

Wade comes through as the first batch of pancakes are served, yawning and rubbing his face, grinning at Peter standing at the stove. The pancakes aren’t as good as Wade’s, but Peter serves them up with a smile and a kiss and Wade argues that that’s good enough.

‘Besides,’ he says with a smirk that makes Peter’s stomach tip in a not unpleasant way. ‘I’ll just have to teach you how to make them properly.’

Peter almost says something about happily being taught anything Wade wants to, but bites his tongue and busies himself with adding the tiniest possible amount of milk to Wade’s coffee, so it’s not quite black, but it’s almost there.

‘You have great bedhead,’ Wade says, watching him with a smile.

‘Yeah,’ Peter laughs. ‘That’d be all my mane.’

Wade faux gasps. ‘You remember that conversation?’

Peter rolls his eyes. ‘How could I possibly forget the first night you broke in here and ruined my life?’

‘It’s been a lengthy seduction.’

‘As if, Wade Wilson, _I’ve_ been seducing _you.’_

Wade laughs and shakes his head and, as if Peter couldn’t feel more grossly enamoured right now, says ‘you never needed to, baby boy, I was yours from the start.’

When Wade offers to blow Peter afterwards as thanks for his breakfast, how can he possibly resist?


End file.
